The elves led the company to the Mirkwood Realm, home of the Silvan Elves. The entrance was heavily guarded; sentries were posted at every access point, and other elven groups had already been summoned in advance, waiting in silence. The path inward was a natural fusion of cavern and forest: massive roots formed arches and passageways, intertwining into multiple trails that led to different structures.
In some stretches, the paths opened into luminous halls, overflowing with plants, fountains, and living ornaments; in others, they delved into imposing structures carved directly into the rock or suspended along the edges of the upper cliffs. Everything seemed to grow as part of the same forest—without breaks, without visible artifice.
The process was orderly and efficient, very similar to what had been experienced in Rivendell… though with a palpable tension, far denser. It was curious that the company arrived wounded and pursued at every elven realm they encountered along their journey.
Upon entering the realm, the group was separated.
The dwarves were immediately taken to isolated medical areas under strict guard, as was Miquella, who was moved to a different location and carefully protected.
The Eldens, meanwhile, were led to a peculiar chamber: a single door, a high window, and guards both inside and outside. It was not a cell… but neither could it be called freedom. There were armchairs, some decoration, and food laid out; a supervised courtesy. Guests, yes—but guests under constant observation.
From the beginning it was clear that they would not be treated with the roughness reserved for the dwarves, but a matter of special interest had captured the king's attention, and that detail sealed their provisional fate. Even so, the Silvan Elves were far from the open hospitality of Rivendell.
After some time waiting, Legolas appeared to escort Malenia. Four guards surrounded her as they led her before Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.
The king waited seated upon his throne. He had already been informed of what his son had found in the forest and awaited the representative of that strange group to obtain answers.
He watched closely as the imposing woman ascended to the throne's platform. He had never seen a human like her—someone whose mere presence inspired such caution. He could sense the Red Curse within her body… and at an intensity greater than any he had ever witnessed. And yet, Malenia was neither corrupted, nor mad, nor withered. That made her all the more unsettling.
"I am Thranduil, King of the Elves of the Wood," he introduced himself in a firm voice. "This is my territory, human."
"I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella. Provisional leader of the Eldens," she replied calmly. They were the only titles she intended to give—and the only ones that mattered at present.
Silence stretched between them.
The king studied her carefully, trying to discern what manner of being stood before him. Malenia, for her part, listened to Trina's whispers, attentive, never averting her gaze.
"I will be frank," Thranduil continued, interlacing his fingers. "We do not welcome invaders. This realm already suffers from its own afflictions. I do not know who the Eldens are, but the fact that you travel with dwarves does not work in your favor." He paused briefly. "Still, that does not automatically make you enemies."
Malenia did not respond. She remained silent, allowing the king to speak without interruption.
Legolas, standing to the side, also remained quiet, letting his father handle the situation. Though his curiosity about these "Eldens" continued to grow, he chose not to intervene… for now.
Thranduil continued to observe her in silence. Faced with Malenia's absolute lack of cooperation, he realized he would gain nothing unless he himself steered the conversation where he wished.
"I do not intend to make things difficult for you," he said at last. "I can allow you to leave… but the dwarves must stay."
Malenia lifted her gaze only for an instant before replying, after a long silence.
"My duty is to fulfill a mission for the dwarves. If they stay, unless it is decided otherwise, I will remain with them."
Thranduil frowned.
"A mission?" he repeated, with a hint of disbelief. "Do the dwarves intend for you to help them reclaim the Mountain? Did they even tell you that you would have to face the most powerful dragon currently alive in Middle-earth?" His voice grew increasingly contemptuous. "It is surprising that those fools would ask for help, but dwarves are not to be trusted. How much did they promise you?" he continued. "I would not trust them to keep their end of the bargain. They are greedy, avaricious… no better than the dragon they seek to slay. At least Smaug does not hide what he is."
"Payment is not something I concern myself with," Malenia replied without agitation. "I merely obey my king. And his order was clear: the dragon must die."
Thranduil snorted, ending the matter of the dwarves. He had no intention of prolonging that discussion; he would wait until Thorin recovered sufficiently from the Red Curse and spoke for himself.
With the Eldens—or rather, with that woman in particular—there was another matter that interested him far more.
"I can perceive that the Red Curse has also fallen upon you," he said, fixing his gaze on Malenia's prosthetics and the small exposed patches of skin where the decay was visible. "But unlike others, it appears to be under control." He leaned slightly forward. "According to my men, despite your… condition, you are an extraordinary warrior."
As before, Malenia showed no reaction whatsoever. The king's words passed over her like wind over stone—empty sounds, devoid of weight. There was no praise nor judgment that could stir even the faintest emotion within her.
Seeing that the other party still made no move toward a conventional exchange, Thranduil decided to get straight to the point.
"From what I understand, you possess a way to counteract the Red Curse."
His gaze drifted over Malenia's armor, lingering on the details with evident interest. It was not greed that shone in his eyes, but need. His people required something like this, and he was willing to negotiate with the Eldens if they proved to be different—and more reliable—than the dwarves they accompanied.
"It does not cure it," Malenia finally replied. "It only suppresses it. It prevents its spread… at least in most cases." She paused briefly. "And not only the Scarlet Rot. Other influences of gods as well…"
Her words faltered as Trina's silent guidance led her down a more precise path.
"…External higher beings. Evils foreign to this world, so to speak. Among them, the origin of the Scarlet Rot."
A glimmer of intrigue crossed Thranduil's eyes. This confirmed not only the rumors of a countermeasure, but something even more unsettling: the existence of a conscious origin behind the plague.
"And do you know that origin?" he asked. "Do you know where this Scarlet Rot comes from?"
It had never been known where it first appeared or why. His realm had been struck by it, and any answer toward its eradication was valuable.
"The Scarlet Rot comes from the god of rot," Malenia replied, repeating the words Trina guided her to speak. "A being foreign to this world, which has invaded it… as it did my homeland. It is not something we can defeat. Only repel."
Thranduil remained silent, processing the answer. The notion of a "god of rot" sounded more like a foreign legend than an absolute truth, but he showed no disdain. He simply set the matter aside for the future.
He gestured with his hand.
Soon after, several elves entered the chamber carrying small chests filled with treasures: finely crafted jewels and gold, elven weapons, artisanal works, and other objects of great value from his realm. Nothing comparable to what lay within the Lonely Mountain, but sufficient as a gesture.
"I hope this marks the beginning of long-term cooperation between our peoples," Thranduil added.
Though humans were not usually as openly greedy as dwarves, they were not exempt from ambition or selfish desires. The elven king did not expect to receive the formula to combat the Red Curse directly, but rather to lay the foundations of a lasting agreement and a means to obtain the substance in question.
Perhaps, in time, the elves themselves would discover how to replicate that method. Until then, he preferred to acquire it by the most peaceful means possible.
"For any dealings with our people, or for discussion of the Unalloyed Gold, it is not I whom you seek," Malenia said. "It is my brother." Her voice grew heavier, laden with a devotion that could be felt throughout the hall. "He is the sovereign of the Eldens. Our leader. He is the one who devised the method to combat the Scarlet Rot… to save me."
"Your brother?" Thranduil murmured, more to himself than to her. His interest sharpened at once. "And where is he? He could be invited to my realm. I would like to speak with him."
"Your healers took him," Malenia replied without hesitation.
The king raised an eyebrow. Then Legolas stepped forward toward his father.
"It is the child we found…" he said quietly.
"The one who looks like an elf?" Thranduil asked, with a hint of surprise. He soon regained his composure, settling back into his throne. "That was another matter I wished to address. Why was a child traveling with you? One who can so easily be mistaken for one of our own," he said thoughtfully.
"Is he not?" Legolas asked, surprised. At a glance, human and elven children differed little; it was usually the aura that betrayed them, and what he had sensed in that child was nothing like anything human.
"No," the king replied. "Though the mistake is understandable. His aura is… pure. Almost sacred, like that of some of our most noble and ancient kin. But it is not exactly that of an elf."
Thranduil had gone to see him personally, and that was when he understood. The child was not an elf, but that did not make him any less extraordinary. In him, he sensed something as awe-inspiring as it was unsettling—a presence similar to what he felt before Malenia… except that in her, the Scarlet Rot overshadowed any other sense of sanctity or divinity.
His curiosity deepened. Perhaps he was not human at all; perhaps a Maia, or something even more singular. The world still harbored mysteries even for beings as ancient as the elves. And now, knowing that the child was the brother of the woman before him, and the creator of the method that contained the Scarlet Rot, his interest grew even further.
"Your brother is being tended to," the king said at last. "He is receiving the utmost care. My healers say he is only sleeping; he should awaken soon." Then, unable to help himself, he voiced his doubt: "I find it curious that someone so young is the leader of your people. Though, if he is capable of such a feat at such an age… I suppose he must be exceptionally wise."
"He is my twin brother," Malenia said.
For a moment, elven stoicism cracked. Those who had seen the child looked at Malenia in disbelief, and even Thranduil showed a fleeting expression of disconcertment unbefitting of a king.
"That… is interesting," he said with an amused smile. "Appearances can be deceiving."
He fell silent for a few seconds, arranging thoughts and strategies in the brief space of a couple of breaths, so that everything would seem to remain under his control.
"I hope to meet this peculiar individual soon. In the meantime, I wish the Eldens to enjoy their stay in my realm. My son will accompany you for whatever you may need. We will meet again when your sovereign awakens."
With that, he concluded the audience.
Malenia did not speak a single word, as she had done for most of her time there. She merely inclined her head in respect and turned away, escorted by the elven guards.
Legolas lingered a moment longer, receiving his father's final instructions.
Though hospitality was spoken of, the Eldens would remain, in part, watched prisoners. Sending Legolas served precisely that purpose. Everyone knew it, but expressing it in that manner was customary among kings and rulers.
Malenia, daughter of Queen Marika, understood it perfectly.